


Sarah Logan - Shield Maiden

by AttackPlatypus



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV), The Warrior Chronicles | The Saxon Stories - Bernard Cornwell, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Crossover, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, More characters to come
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-01-13 00:16:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21234971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AttackPlatypus/pseuds/AttackPlatypus
Summary: Sarah Logan a warrior determined to forge a legacy. Where will her journey take her? Whom will she meet?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RelentlassHuggerSquad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RelentlassHuggerSquad/gifts), [LiteratureLocker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiteratureLocker/gifts), [ahunter8056](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahunter8056/gifts).

I am Sarah Logansdatter, I am a warrior, and it is high time I told my tale. 

I am the daughter of warriors. Mighty spear warriors and sword warriors, men who had cut a bloody path through this world and left names that blazed in glory wherever Northmen gathered. For generations, upon unbroken generation, the eldest son of my family had been raised to battle. But then, my father Logan Loganson had been killed in battle...sonless. 

I remember my father as a kind man, full of laughter and song. I was only four or five when he died, and though it has been decades since then I still remember how he would throw me high into the air and catch me as I fell. I still smile when I remember this, I am smiling now as I tell this tale. But, one fine spring day at our family’s modest steading a days ride east of Uppsala, the messenger had appeared. 

My father, Logan Loganson, had been killed while fighting in the lands to the far east, the lands of the Rus. Logan Strongspear, for that had been how he was best known, died in a welter of blood, screaming, and slaughter on the banks of some nameless river. The men that escaped told of how he had raged at his enemies and sent many brave and strong men to the corpse hall before being overcome himself. I remember my mother’s first question to the messenger had been whether he had died with his sword in hand, and how she had seemed to take some comfort from the fact that he had. 

I take comfort in the fact now, for it means that, someday, I will see him again. And I will be able to tell him of my own adventures, and I will introduce him to the men who I have sent to fill the benches of Valhalla beside him. It will be a joyous time where I can once again bask in the warmth of his presence and, if I am fortunate, finally be able to hear him tell me how proud he is of his daughter.

But that will be in the future if I am fortunate. For now, my business is to tell my tale, so that my friend Liv may set it down.

After my father’s death, our steading had been taken over by his brother. My uncle was a good man, which is a rare quality in this world. He cared for me and my mother and then did the greatest service for me that anyone has ever done. He taught me swordcraft. 

Few if any women learn to fight. Our lives are hard enough without it. Most women work from sunrise to sunset, weaving, sewing, cleaning, cooking, gathering, tending to animals, raising children, and making the daily offerings to the Gods. This begins when we are very young, as young girls indeed and continues unabated until we are either dead or infirm. In between youth and old age, our bodies are racked by child-birth, and many do not survive that ordeal. 

But my circumstances were different. My father had been the eldest son and had thus had been expected to carry on our family’s line and tradition. Doubtless, had he lived, he would have fathered many more children on my mother. No doubt a son would have appeared and that boy would have been taught the arts of sword and axe before forging his own legacy. But that was not to be.

Of course, my uncle was young enough at the time that he could have had a son or many sons. Yet, he never did. I remember being puzzled by this at the time, my young mind not comprehending why he did not take this seemingly simple solution. After all, after finding renown in battle what is a man’s purpose if not to make sons? 

My uncle, though a fine warrior and renowned shipmaster, never had any children of his own. He did have a wife, all men of his standing took wives, but I now realize she couldn’t have been very happy. My uncle spent most of his time with his close companion, Toki. I remember him as a sort of surrogate uncle for me, a man who treated as though I were his own daughter. I was told at the time that Toki was my uncle’s friend and that they had stood together in the shield wall. And I suppose they had, though I now realize their friendship went far beyond that of most companions.

Whatever the case my uncle, who was a man of many eccentric views, took it upon himself to raise me. He had decided that, as the only child of the family and with little prospect of more, that I would be raised to carry on our legacy as though I were the eldest son. So I had been plucked from the care and company of my mother and grandmother and dropped into a world of boys and men.

To his credit, my uncle never suffered from any delusions about this. He knew that both he and I would face much ridicule and scorn over this decision, and so we did. Though not right away.

From a young age, I was told to run and play with the boys from the steadings around ours. This wasn’t anything unusual. As small children, we all played together, and the boys found it very amusing when I started insisting on being included in their ‘battles’ in the woods and along the stream. I remember those as happy times, we would fight using sticks as swords, pretend to ‘hunt’ in the high woods (though we never caught anything), and even staged ‘raids’ on the play areas of other children. 

I was content, more than content I was happy, assured that my friendship with the boys would remain forever unchanged. After all, why shouldn’t it? I could run as fast as any of them, I could outwrestle all of them, and I gave as good as I got in our mock battles with sticks. It was true that I always lost our pissing contests, being unable to arc my piss high into the air, but other than that I was easily equal to all of them in all our games. Until it wasn’t so easy anymore.

I bled for the first time in the summer of my twelfth year. Of course, I told my mother, being unsettled by what was happening. She had comforted me before sending me to bed. I didn’t sleep much though, distracted by the loud argument that had arisen between my mother and uncle. I don’t recall the exact words, just that my mother believed it was time for me to marry. Indeed I should have been betrothed long before now. No doubt if my father had lived I would have been promised to some other prominent man’s son. But my uncle had different ideas.

I don’t remember who ‘won’ the argument that night, all I know is I wasn’t married or betrothed. I was happy about this, marriage seemed a grim fate to me at the time. Why should I be forced to spit out babies now just because I had bled? I wanted to continue my life as it had gone before, free to run wild with my friends. But time moves forward, it does not hold it’s place. And things began to change.

It was a gradual change, and at first, I enjoyed it. I grew taller than my friends almost overnight. My long legs, when I grew used to them, let me run like a deer. My new size made it even easier to beat the boys in wrestling. But it was during this time that my first indication of things to come appeared. 

My friends and I were sitting around our small fire in the woods, talking as boys did. I often thought of myself as one of them, never really considering myself as a girl when I was amongst the group. I was using a small knife to widdle a sharp point onto a large stick I had found when the discussion had turned to other girls. This had happened more and more as we’d grown older and, as usual, I was bored. I found most other girls my age to be a dull company. They were forever tittering about marriage and boys as the weaved. I knew what boys were like better than any of them and couldn’t understand their pre-occupying fascination with them. 

As for my friends, I would have found their endless evaluations and speculations more interesting if I didn’t know that most became nervous at the mere thought of speaking to a girl. At least a girl that wasn’t me. I was thus not paying much attention to talk that flowed around the fire. One of my friends, a boy named Eric, was talking about one of the girls in the area. A daughter of a local thegn named Astrid.

Eric was speaking with exaggerated reverence and longing about Astrid’s tits. I just rolled my eyes and continued to whittle. I knew he was exaggerating because Astrid, who was my age, had no tits to speak of. I was about to go back to thinking about what kind of hunting dog I would want one day when my name came up.

“What?” I asked, looking up for the first time. I frowned then because I realized the whole group was staring at me. “Well?” I demanded.

“You have tits,” came the simple response. 

I remembered being very surprised by the remark, never having really thought about it before. After all, who reflects on the fact that they have a foot or an arm? But I did indeed have tits. I found them more of a nuisance than anything, but they were there. 

“So?” I asked. None of my friends seemed to have any kind of answer to this as I held their gaze. When the silence had stretched for several long moments I went back to my stick and, gradually, the talk resumed.

That was my first indication I had that I was now different, set apart from my friends. But it became more and more apparent as time went by. I lost my brief edge is height and strength quickly as my friends began shooting up like weeds. Their voices first began to squeak, then to deepen. Some of them began growing wispy hair on their faces, which I mocked. But I began to lose our races and wrestling matches more and more. 

As annoying as this had been, I had a major source of consolation that summer. My uncle began to teach me to fight. 

Training did not, of course, begin suddenly on one day. For years I had been brought along on hunts, made to hold practice swords and shields, and set to other tasks designed to build my strength. Even my games with my friends had served to strengthen and toughen me for the day when I would begin to learn in earnest. And now that time had come.

I trained with my uncle or his friend Toki. The boys I had grown up with trained as a group under a seasoned warrior but I was never included. I remember being hurt at the time and not understanding why I was excluded, though now the answer is obvious to me. Still, both my uncle and Toki were skilled fighters and I received an excellent education. 

I learned the basic cuts and parries of the sword, how to hold a shield, and (my favorite lessons) how to fight with an axe. I loved the hours spent practicing the same moves and counter moves over and over again. Later in my life, it was those hours of work that would save my life, time and again. The movements became second nature, as easy as breathing. I sometimes feel I did little between the ages of 13 and 15 except for train in the arts of war.

It was in the summer of my sixteenth year when I first killed a man.

He was a boy really. Technically old enough to be considered a man, but only just. But he hadn’t stood in a shield wall, or even fought anyone in earnest so I think of him as a boy now. That boy was Eric, someone I had thought of as a friend, closer than a friend even, a brother. 

As we had all grown I had seen less and less of my friends. They spent almost all their time training for war, as men do. I did the same, though always with my uncle, Toki, or increasingly on my own. I missed my friends, but they had no interest in wandering in the woods any longer. All they wanted to do was fight. In fairness, I felt the same, but something had changed between us. When we did spend time together, I felt more like an outsider than ever before.

Then, one night, I had decided to ride into the small village near our steading. I wanted to go to the tavern and wasn’t surprised to find that a group of my friends were there. I was surprised, however, when they called to me and invited me to sit with them. While I was still friendly with most of them, they rarely sought my company any longer. But this invitation gave me a small glimmer of hope.

I was a young fool.

Bringing my pot ale over to the table where my friends sat, I dropped onto a stool and smiled. Most of the old group where there, along with several girls. I suspected most of these would have been the girls who worked out of the tavern, so I paid them no mind.

“The mighty shield maiden joins us!” one of my friends called. I did my best to smile at the jest, I knew that many of the men in the area called both me and my uncle ‘shield maiden’ as a way to mock us. Though I hadn’t realized my friends had begun to as well.

“Mightier than you will ever be,” I shot back. There was appreciative laughter around the table at this remark. For a while that evening, things felt like they used to. We laughed, caroused, and sang like we had when were children. The ale flowed and we were all merry...until we weren’t.

I was returning to the table with my fourth pot of ale...or perhaps fifth. I couldn’t drink as much as the others but I was determined to make a good showing. I was swaying slightly so at first, I didn’t notice the hand on my waist. All I knew was that I was suddenly tipping sideways until I landed on something softer than a chair. I managed to save the ale, which I deposited on the table, only to look around and find myself on Eric’s lap. A blinked several times at this in surprise.

“Thank you,” I said automatically, assuming he had only meant to catch me as I stumbled. But when I tried to stand again I found his arm was trapping me. Then I realized that, until now, Eric had been the only boy around the table without a girl in his lap. I also noted what the others were doing to the women they held.

“Come on, Sarah, let’s play like we used to…” Eric slurred, he was obviously drunk. I didn’t respond verbally, I just tried to stand again only to find myself firmly held in place by his arm. Eric was one of the smaller men in the local war band but hours of training had still made him formidably strong.

“I’ll find you another whore,” I said trying to laugh the situation off as I once again made an effort to stand. But I was too drunk to force my way out of his grip.

“Why? I can pay you well,” he whispered drunkenly into my ear. With that, his hand came up to squeeze my breast, and this burned through my ale induced haze like a hot sun through a mist. I drove my elbow hard back into his face, sending him tumbling backward and onto the floor. I just managed to grab hold of the table to hold myself upright as he went down. I then spun to face him, rage on my face.

“I am no whore! I am a warrior! And if you touch me again, I will suck your eyeballs from your sockets and wear them on a string around my neck!” I snarled. I was angry, oh so angry. The ale wasn’t helping but it was more than that. For the first time, my warrior’s pride had been challenged. 

The others at the table had all turned now and were watching what happened with a mix of concern and bemusement. Eric, who had finally managed to extract himself from his chair was standing clumsily. His face was contorted in fury as he scrambled to his feet and stalked toward me. “Bitch!” he roared as he raised his hand, held across his chest as though he intended to backhand me across the face. 

It might have worked well enough on a cowering tavern wench but not on a warrior. Not on me. I easily ducked under the clumsy swing, and then drove my fist into his flank, and then the other into his gut. This not only folded him over but sent a yellowish wave of vomit onto the tavern floor. I stepped back in disgust only to run into another person. I looked back then and finally noticed that the other tavern goers had formed a small circle around us.

Eric had staggered to his feet again, and his chest was heaving in rage. “The bitch thinks she’s a warrior! Give me a blade and I’ll show her that she’s only playing pretend!” There was a cheer from the crowd but it was cut short by a huge banging sound.

“NOT IN MY TAVERN!” came the roar from behind the bar. The tavern’s owner, an old grizzled bear of a man, was glaring at us with an axe in his hand. Despite their bravado, my friends (or former friends because they had been cheering Eric on) were still young enough that they didn’t dare defy a man like this. So, with a few mutterings, they began to file out of the tavern leaving some indignant and unpaid whores behind. As they left one of the house dogs rushed forward to devour the vomit on the ground.

I had originally intended to return home that evening after a night of drinking. But now I decided it would probably be more prudent to let Eric and the others leave and get home rather than risk encountering them on the road. So I paid a small bit of hack silver to sleep in the inn’s stables that night. I reasoned that if my former friends had been too scared to fight me in the tavern because of the owner, then they wouldn’t have the courage to come back and get me so long as I remained on his land.

I was wrong.

I fell asleep on some mercifully dry straw hoping that the next day would show that the evening’s events were a bad dream. I don’t know how long I was asleep, all I remember was that rough hands woke me. I tried to struggle but my mouth was covered and, a moment later, a heavy fist slammed into my gut. I was wheezing and wretching as I was hauled to my feet. It was still night, but illumination was being provided by several torches. Despite this, I couldn’t see any of my assailants clearly. 

I was half hustled and half carried for several minutes until I was roughly shoved to the ground. I dropped to all fours and looked around in a daze. I was surrounded. Five men held torches and formed a ring around me, now that I got a real chance to look at them I knew them. 

My former friends.

“You think you’re a warrior?” an angry voice barked from the darkness. A moment later, Eric stepped into the firelight. As he approached I finally noticed what was on the ground around me. 

A square marked by hazel branches. My blood ran cold. This could only mean one thing.

“Eric…” I said, and I admit my voice shook slightly. I was young then, and I had never been in that situation before. Now, of course, I have stood in the hazel rods more times than I can count. But that night was my first.

“I, Eric Ericson, will not be humiliated by a whore. So if you want to play at war, girl, then come forth. Or…” and I could see his leer even in the darkness as he said this last part “...You can submit to me and kneel.”

“You’ll enjoy her more on her back!” a man who had once been my friend called to a chorus of harsh laughter. 

Strange to say, that remark saved my life. Because it woke the anger within me. My lip pulled back in a snarl as I punched the dirt once before shooting to my feet.

“You’d kill an unarmed woman? What a great warrior you are! Will you compose a song of this night?” I mocked Eric as he shrugged off his cloak and drew his sword. 

“The bitch still wants to pretend? Give her a blade!” Eric mocked me back. There was a thudding sound as a sword was dropped into the dirt beside me. I knelt slowly, never taking my eyes off of Eric. For his part, he never stopped grinning. He was confident, and why shouldn’t he be? He had me at a severe disadvantage in terms of size and strength. He was also using his own sword, the weapon he’d trained with. I was being forced to use a stranger’s blade. 

“Lost your tongue, bitch?” Eric laughed as I glared silently at him. I refused to be baited, I was doing as I had been taught by my uncle and Toki. I was observing my enemy. But Eric, in the foolish arrogance of youth, assumed it was fear.

“Drop the sword, girl. Go to your knees and grovel to me and then, after I’ve enjoyed you, I will let you live!” he growled. Once again, I said nothing. When the silence stretched for several long heartbeats, he snarled. “Then die!” he suddenly shouted as he lunged at me. 

As he came he swung his sword in a wide scything slash, all of his young strength was behind that blow. Had it connected I have no doubt it would have separated my head from my neck. But it was clumsy and I easily ducked out of the way. He stumbled due to the force of his attack and, for a moment, presented his back to me. But I didn’t counter-attack, even through my anger, I still regretted what was happening. 

“Eric, don’t be a fool! We can both just walk away!” I said as I retreated to the opposite side of the square.

“Did I hear a bitch whimpering?” he roared in response as he turned and ran at me again. This time he brought his sword flashing upward in a strike that could have split me from the crotch to neck, but I leap to one side. Only then did I realize my mistake.

By the gods...I was a fool. It always amazes me that I am still alive today when I think of all the idiot mistakes I made in my youth. I should have seen that Eric’s scything uppercut was a feint, but, like an idiot, I was too busy congratulating myself on avoiding the attack. I was so satisfied that I was nearly killed as Eric brought his sword whipping toward me in a backhanded cut. The motion was smooth and lightning fast. It was all I could do to force my blade clumsily between my body and Eric’s sword. 

The metal rang like a bell as the swords collided, an oddly jarring noise in the stillness of the night. Parrying and blocking with the edge of your sword is a stupid thing to do under any circumstances. Trying to do so when you are much weaker than your opponent is the sign of a death wish. I was tall and strong for a girl, but I felt that blow reverberate down my sword and into my arms as I was forced backward. I grunted with the effort of not stumbling and this brought a grin to Eric’s face.

“You always liked to play at being a man, now you can die like one!” Eric laughed as he stalked back toward me. I dodged his next three attacks without trying to parry, it was clear he wanted to force me into another strength on strength contest. Even at that age, I wasn’t foolish enough to offer him one. “We’re not dancing, Sarah…” Eric mocked as he drove the point of his sword toward my belly “...We’re fighting.” 

“There has to be an easier way for you to get your cocked touched! Perhaps a goat?” I snarled back as I spun to one side. Then I tried my first attack, swinging wildly at his face using both hands. Had I been facing an experienced opponent, I would have died for that stroke. I left myself horribly vulnerable. But we were both children, Eric was strong and fast but he was still wet behind the ears and I was worse. Our fight was the clumsiest one I’ve ever engaged in. And it ended in a suitably clumsy manner.

Eric just barely managed to step back from the haymaking blow. But my momentum had carried me too close for him to bring his sword to bear so he shoved me hard. I stumbled to more mocking laughter from the audience. 

.

“All your ‘training’ and that’s your best?” Eric taunted me. I had let my stumble carry me almost to the edge of the square. I was down on one knee and kept my back to him for a moment as I rested a palm on the dirt. 

“Will you take me to wife?” I asked suddenly, still not looking at him. The question caught everyone off guard as I heard some surprised muttering from around me. I knew that Eric would have been approaching me and had waited until he was close before I spoke.

“I, what-” Eric asked, clearly discomfited. But then I spun around with the speed of a snake and flung the handful of dirt in my hand directly into his eyes. He flinched away out of reflex, and that was his mistake. He realized it too as he sent his sword slashing blindly through the air in an effort to force me away. But I had already ducked under the weapon, pivoted, and swung my own blade with all the force I could muster.

It was no great strike, but it was more than enough on an unarmored man. The tip of my sword tore a bloody gash along the back of Eric’s right leg, hamstringing him. He slumped forward onto his knee with a howl of pain as blood splashed the ground under him. A small part of me felt a pang of sympathy for my former friend, but only a very small part. I was enjoying myself, reveling in the joy of combat for the first time. I was on him in an instant, kicking him hard between his shoulder blades and sending him sprawling into the dirt. He tried to stand but I hurried forward, slammed my boot down on his right wrist, trapping it, and held the sword at the base of his neck where it met his spine.

“Yield!” I gasped, I hadn’t realized how hard I was breathing until that moment. Eric didn’t respond, he was still in agony but there was also shock on his face. “YIELD!” I shouted at him.

“You don’t have the guts!” he grunted as he tried to raise himself onto his good knee. But I jabbed him with the tip of my sword and he went still. “GET HER!” he shouted at his friends. Out of the corner of my eyes, I thought I saw someone moving toward me and so...I acted. 

With a scream, I drove the sword down with all my weight and strength, and it took every bit of both. It takes a lot of force to drive a blade through muscle, sinew, and bone. But, for the first time, I did it that night. There was sickening wet crunching noise followed by a loud squirt of blood. I flinched as the spray covered my face and torso but I kept shouting. And as my former friend died there, under my blade, I howled. A scream of fear and anger escaping my body. 

The other’s ran, I had been prepared to turn to face them with my sword, but they ran. A moment before they’d been prepared to attack and likely kill me. But the sudden death of Eric had taken the fight right out of them. Up until that point, it had been something like a game, a deadly game, but a game. Now the real consequences were driven home and one of them lay there, bleeding his life into the ground. 

Then I was left alone, leaning heavily on a sword that was pinning a corpse to the ground. The body of someone I had grown up with and loved as a child. I freely admit that I sobbed loudly when the others were gone. But I knew I had to move, so I put my foot on Eric’s dead shoulder and used it brace myself as I heaved the sword out of his body. I was preparing to flee when I saw that his sword had fallen just out of reach of his hand. 

I hesitated, he had just tried to kill me and had certainly meant to disgrace me earlier. But in the end, I knelt beside his body and closed his dead fingers around the weapon. And so, Eric Youngsson awaits me in Odin’s hall. After I die I hope to meet him there, and I hope that then we can be as we once were. That we can be friends.

I don’t know how I made it to my home that night, it was dark and all I had was a spluttering torch for light. I don’t remember doing so. All I remember is being shaken awake the next morning, 

“Sarah! Sarah! Get up!” an urgent voice said above me. I murmured groggily, still trapped in a nightmare but the shaking continued.

“What?” I finally croaked.

“On your feet!” my uncle snapped at me as he hauled me upward with little apparent effort. He was a very burly man. 

“I...what?” I asked again.

“The Jarl is here and I’m guessing it has something to do with why you’re covered in blood,” my uncle said grimly. That woke me up quickly enough. The Jarl was the local lord, the man to whom all the local landholders owed fealty. If he was here then something important was happening. For a moment, I didn’t realize what it would be...then I remembered. The previous night’s horrible events came flooding back.

“Uncle...I-” I stammered before I threw myself at him, wrapping my arms around him. He held me tightly for several long moments before he gently pried me away. 

“There’s no time...courage now,” he said as he put a hand on my back and led me out of the house. That walk seemed to take forever. 

I remember wincing as I emerged from the dark interior into the harsh morning sunlight. It took my eyes several moments to adjust but when it did I knew I was in trouble. A group of horsemen waited in the road, all were men and all were armed. They all appeared formidable, but it was the man in the center that drew my attention. A big man on a big horse, he seemed to emanate authority.

  
This was Jarl Ole Anderson.

“Is this the girl?” Anderson asked flatly, plainly speaking to my uncle.

“This is her, lord,” my uncle answered humbly. Anderson had a fearsome reputation as a warrior that commanded the respect of men like my uncle and others. I had heard tales of his exploits and I admit I was terrified to stand before him.

“Come here, girl,” the Jarl commanded. I looked nervously at my uncle but he was still looking up at his lord. So, with a swallow, I forced myself to put one foot in front of the other until I was standing by his stirrup. “Look at me,” he growled. 

It took a huge effort but I managed to look up at him. What did I see all those years ago? I saw a god of slaughter above me. His mail shone in the sun, his cloak was made of bear fur, his arms were covered in gold and silver arm rings, and his sword seemed to be the size of a tree trunk to my terrified eyes.

“Tell me what happened?” Anderson demanded of me. This was the first time I had ever spoken to a Jarl and my tongue turned to stone for several moments. I only managed to form words again when he growled at me.

“L-l-lord?” I stammered. This seemed to annoy him as he shifted on his saddle. I couldn’t see his face as his helmet’s cheek guards were lowered, but I could sense the glare coming from within.

“What happened last night, girl!” he asked again. I jumped as though he’d shouted at me though he hadn’t raised his voice at all. I brought off a stammering and halting account of the night before, though I’m sure I sounded pathetic. Anderson didn’t seem to notice however or at least he said nothing about it when I finished. He simply sat grimly until another man spoke up.

“She murdered my son! And I demand vengeance!” he roared as she spurred his horse forward. With a lurch in my gut, I realized that it was Eric’s father, a man who I had looked up to as a child. It hurt me more than I can now say not only to see how desolated he looked but to realize what I had done to him. Now that the battle anger was gone, I detested myself for what I’d done. I only came back to myself when I began to fear he intended to ride me down where I stood. But Anderson held out a hand to check him.

“You taught her to fight?” Anderson asked my uncle.

“Yes, Lord.”

“Hmph...well at least you taught her well…” Anderson said, sounding begrudging. Under other circumstances, I might have felt proud at such a remark from the Jarl. But I was too terrified and ashamed that day. 

“My lord, I-” Eric’s father started to say but Anderson cut him off with a gesture. Then he turned to address my uncle.

“There has been a murder on my lands. Your niece stands accused of killing Eric Ericson last night. Do you have anything to say?” Anderson asked.

“Just that she is a good girl, lord. And that if this thing has happened I am sure there is a good reason,” my uncle said deferentially. Eric’s father began to speak again but was again cut off. Anderson didn’t speak again for over a minute as he looked from me and my uncle back to Eric’s father.

“There are grounds for a feud, blood has been shed…” he began, my heart plummeted at his words but he kept speaking “...But I see nothing that would justify me in killing the girl.”

“My lord!...” Eric’s father sounded furious “...She KILLED my-”

“YOUR SON…” Anderson finally raised his voice and it was as though thunder had echoed across the sky “...Put his hands on the girl, a free woman, and the heir to this steading, in the tavern. He breached my peace in doing so. He then laid the hazel branches and challenged the girl fairly. The girl’s own testimony confirms what some of the other boys present and the tavern owner will swear oaths to, do you dispute their claims?!”

Eric’s father looked mutinous but he shook his head.

“But you!...” and now the Jarl jammed his finger at me “...Have still spilled blood on my lands, and the blood of an heir to one of my thegns. Your continued presence will simply invite retaliation from the boy’s friends and family. I will not stand for a feud among my men.”

“Lord-” my uncle began to say but he was silenced in turn.

“Sarah Logansdatter I banish you from my lands. You will leave and not return, none of my folk will be permitted to offer you aide of succor under penalty of the same fate.”

At first, I didn’t even know how to react. The dreadful words fell like an executioners axe on my ears. I didn’t move or speak, I just stared blankly ahead. I only dimly heard my uncle protesting, and the Jarl’s response, as though from a great distance. I felt my uncle’s hand on my shoulder but I had no idea how to react to it. My hearing only returned to catch the Jarl’s final words.

“It is over, an heir for an heir,” he said, looking from Eric’s father to my uncle. There was a long silence before both men must have given some kind of acknowledgment because the Jarl then turned his horse and sent it trotting up the path. 

“The girl will be out of my lands by noon!” he called over his shoulder before he kicked his horse into a gallop taking his men away with him. Eric’s father lingered for a moment longer, glaring at me and my uncle, before he too spurred away. 

I was numb, it was though my mind had frozen.

“Come, there isn’t much time,” my uncle said urgently as he began steering me toward the house. I was drifting in a haze and barely noticed.

Banished? 

I had never known anything but the steading, the nearby village, and the lands around them. What would I do? Where would I go? Could I even survive? These and a thousand other questions and fears chased themselves around the inside of my mind as my uncle spoke to me. I now realize he was hurrying around the house, trying to assemble a pack for me with some essentials so I wouldn’t die on the road. But I was too far away to notice until he took me by my shoulders.

“Sarah! Listen to me!” he said urgently, staring directly into my eyes. I blinked several times but eventually managed to meet his gaze. I remember that tears began to form in my eyes and then the sting of his hand as he slapped me. “There is no time for tears now, child!” he snapped.

I was stunned, but the slap had brought me out of my reverie and I managed to nod dumbly.

“This doesn’t have to be forever, the Jarl is old and when his son succedes we may be able to bring you home. So STAY ALIVE until then, do you understand me? STAY ALIVE. You’re a clever girl and you know everything I can teach you. You will survive so long as you never give up, do you hear me? NEVER GIVE UP!”

All I could do was nod again.

“It’s almost noon…” my uncle said urgently “...you need to begin moving. Make for the runestone south of the river. I’ll try to have some supplies there. Did you hear me, Sarah?”

“I-...” was all I could manage.

“REPEAT what I just said,” my uncle almost shouted at me. He was trying to force my mind back to the present and it worked, a little.

“I...go to the runestone...south of the river…” I said in a voice barely above a whisper. 

“Good! Now, you must hurry. If you’re still on the Jarl’s lands after the appointed time you may be killed with impunity. And I do not doubt that Young and his men will hunt you beyond. So stay off the roads once you cross the river and leave the runestone. Do you understand me, Sarah?”

I managed a small nod.

“I will hope for the day when I can bring you home, you must as well. That is the most important piece of advice I can give you, Sarah. You must not lose hope!” he told me urgently.

“I...alright…” I said, still sounding dazed. 

“SWEAR to me! Swear you will not give up!” 

I was barely aware of what I did but I nodded then. “I promise.” Then, my uncle startled me by pulling me into a tight embrace.

“I love you as a daughter, Sarah. Always remember that. I swore to your father that I would protect you and your mother and so I will. Now, go! Hurry!” he said as he began to hurry me out of the house. I felt tears forming in my eyes again as I emerged back into the sunlight. 

I tried to turn around, to say everything I wanted to, but he just shouted at the tops of lungs at me. 

“GO! RUN!” 

So, I ran. It was fortunate I was so familiar with that road because my vision was swimming with tears. I ran until my sobs prevented me from drawing the breath I needed to keep running. I wanted to just drop down right there and cry. Waiting for Eric’s father to come to kill me didn’t seem worse than what was in front of me. But I kept going, stumbling drunkenly down that lonely road because I had made a promise. And even in my nearly delirious state that stuck in my mind.

Under good circumstances and conditions, it would have taken me only about an hour to reach the runestone. On that day it took me almost double that. When it finally came into view, something about the site of the lonely rock in it’s clearing made my tears come again. I stumbled toward the stone, as though it were my salvation. Dropping down to my knees in front of it I began to sob.

“That’s not the Sarah I know…” a familiar voice said from behind me. 

I jumped nearly to the top of the stone as I spun around. There, standing before me, was Toki my uncle’s companion. I ran toward him and threw myself into his arms allowing myself to cry. 

“Sarah, I can’t stay long. They will have someone following you and probably your uncle and I…” he said gently as he patted my head “...So come, take these.” He pulled away then and led me over behind a large tree. There I found a bundle which Toki unwrapped to reveal my axe, shield, and the sword I’d used to kill Eric the night before. I stared at this last weapon, transfixed until Toki shook me from my reverie. 

“Remember what you’ve been taught, you’re smart and skilled. Make your way south, to Birka. When you get there, find a merchant named Svein at the docks. A large man with a black beard who is missing two fingers from his left hand. He is a friend of mine and will help you!”

I picked up my weapons mechanically, handling the sword gingerly, but didn’t speak. When I was fully outfitted I looked at Toki again. My emotions threatening to overcome me once more. But he saw this and put his hands on my shoulders, gently turning me to face south.

“Go, Sarah, you need to hurry.”

I looked back once but he was already stepping backward and something in his expression told me that I couldn’t go back to him. So I began my journey.

The next few weeks would never be easy. I was almost always hungry, and even when I wasn’t I was exhausted. I spent many nights with tears in my eyes and I wonder now, all these years later, how I survived. The only thing I can think is that the gods loved me, and perhaps they still do. For even after my time in the wilderness, my life would not get easier.


	2. Chapter 2: Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah Logan, Shieldmaiden, continues her adventure as she grapples with a new adversary and possibly finds a new ally?

Hunger is a far more formidable enemy than any foe I’ve ever faced in a shield wall. 

Hunger stabs at you with all the force of the seax that flashes up from under your shield. It twists in your guts and leaves you unable to think of anything but satisfying your grumbling belly. Hunger obliterates thought, it obliterates honor, it obliterates everything. A woman will do terrible things when she is facing starvation. 

I first truly learned about hunger in my sixteenth year. 

I had just been cast out of the only place I had ever known as a result of killing my former friend. He had meant to rape me, so the bastard deserved it. But the Jarl, fearing the potential of a feud between our families, had expelled me from his lands. I’d been left with nothing but a pack, my axe, the very same sword I had used to kill my friend, and a single piece of advice to head to Birka.

That was easier said than done. I had grown up in steading east of Uppsala, which was only half a day’s walk from Birka. Under ideal circumstances. I had duly set off to the south, not because I wanted to but because I had promised my uncle and his lover, Toki, that I would stay alive. It wasn’t a hope, not really, but it was enough to keep me moving grimly along.

But I had only been walking south along the road for an hour when I heard the men coming. It wasn’t much of a road, no more than two ruts in the ground but it was at least mostly clear of high grass and rocks. I was doing my best to keep tears from my face (I wept easily back then) which meant trying to forget about my situation. But mostly I was drifting along, barely aware of what I was doing until I heard the shout.

It wasn’t distinct, but it was enough to bring my focus back to the present. I froze and listened intently until I heard another shout. Men’s voices, behind me, but not far. The stretch of road I was standing on ran between two steep banks. I don’t know what made me so wary, the road was relatively busy and it wasn’t uncommon to encounter people on it, but I was.

My uncle had been fond of saying that instinct was the whispers of the gods. That indefinable feeling that hardens into certainty being their way of advising us when they chose to do so. And that day, the gods told me to get off the road. I looked around once and then threw myself at the bank to my right. It took some work but I eventually managed to scramble up over the top and down into some brush. Only a few moments later a group of horsemen came up the hill that I had climbed not long before. 

I looked down at them from my hiding place and froze. One of the men was the father of the boy I had killed. The father of my former friend.

“Keep looking, the little bitch can’t have gotten much further than this,” the man who I now realize was my enemy said. He spoke loudly and clearly as though he hoped he could summon me out of the air with his mere intent. One of his companions said something I couldn’t hear, but it obviously displeased him.

“Damn the Jarl! He insulted me, claiming the life of a girl is equal to my son’s! Besides, we’re no longer on his land. If I kill her here, then he can say nothing about it.”

My stomach lurched at this. I had been banished by the Jarl Ole Anderson and Eric’s father had agreed to accept this as a punishment at the time. But he clearly didn’t consider himself bound to honor that agreement. I was surprised that he would be so brazen in his defiance but now, I realize it wasn’t shocking at all. Eric’s father was an important man in Jarl Ole’s lands, a shipmaster. He could lead a crew of fifty warriors to the Jarls banner. Anderson was certainly stronger, but he couldn’t ignore Eric’s father with impunity either.

I didn’t think any of this at the time. I was rooted to the spot in fear. I could barely come to grips with the fact that I had been forced to kill a boy who I had once been close with. Now here was his father openly discussing how he would kill me if he could. I felt the tug of despair then, my situation felt hopeless. I had promised to stay alive, but at that moment it felt like that decision wasn’t mine to make any longer. 

“Ride ahead and wait along the road, if you see her don’t harm her! I want her to be captured and brought before me. I’m going back to collect some men to comb the woods along the road,” Eric’s father declared. He began to turn his horse then but as he did his eyes raked along the top of the banks. It was all I could do not to let out a gasp when his eyes passed directly over the spot where I was hidden.

I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared than when his eyes seemed to linger on mine. I was preparing to spring up and run when he spurred his horse and rode off in a cloud of dust. His companions didn’t move for a few moments after he left, and I held my breath.

“She’ll probably head east toward the water, I know her pathetic uncle has friends among the merchants,” one said.

“Oh I’m sure he enjoys their ‘company’ very much,” his companion snorted. Even in my terror, I felt a sudden surge of anger towards the men. My uncle’s preferences weren’t a secret but he still endured a great deal of ridicule for them. Though rarely to his face, for he was always willing to lay the hazel branches for any man who dared question his prowess in battle.

But as quickly as my anger appeared, it was blown away like chaff in a breeze. What did I think I could do? Charge two fully grown men on horseback and defeat them? I was a sixteen-year-old girl. So I lay still and waited until the men rode away, heading in the direction I had hoped to travel. When they had gone I rolled onto my back and blew out a breath.

I had a problem.

I had hoped to head directly south to Birka. There I would meet my uncle’s friend, a merchant named Svein if I could find him. I had no idea what might come after that, I suppose I’d just hoped this Svein would have an idea. But now, it seemed that my enemies barred the road. It also sounded as though they would be expecting me to try and go to the coast before following it to Birka. Which was what I had been thinking of doing when Eric’s father had told his men to watch the road.

The trade town was built on an island called Bjorko that lay in a large lake. This lake was connected to the sea by a series of channels dotted with many islands. I had been to Birka several times with my uncle, it had always fascinated me as a girl. So many people living so close together, and its market had seemed to sell everything. But I knew little about the land around Birka. I had the idea that I might be able to circle to the west and come to the town from the south, but I had no idea how long that might take or what the terrain was like.

For lack of anything better to do I stood and began trudging to the west. It was taking me further from Birka but it would also take me further from the vengeance of Eric’s father. I had loved to wander through the woods as a girl and I still felt at home there. The countless hours spent then, and the many I had spent learning to hunt served me well now. I could move very quietly through terrain that most men would blunder and crash through. 

I made slow but steady progress throughout the rest of that afternoon, I had no idea where I was but it had been many hours since I’d heard any sound from another person. I was still in the deep woods, a place where men rarely ventured unless hunting...or hiding. I knew that some parts of the forest were the haunt of bandits and outlaws, and imagined an ambush lying behind every tree.

It is an odd thing that I have always noticed over the years. When your mind is worried, or scared, it always produces the worst possible outcomes and dwells on them. A woman could have nothing but good fortune for a year, but a nervous mind will always find the turd in the cream. 

I only stopped when the gloom under the trees led to premature dusk. Only when I’d stopped did I realize just how hungry I was, ravenously so. I’d been traveling hard all day and now my stomach was calling for food. Though this wasn’t ideal it did have one benefit, where my mind had formerly been stuck in an endless cycle of fear...it was now too preoccupied with my hunger to think of anything but food. 

I dropped heavily down onto the ground, resting against a large rock when I finally recalled the pack on my back. I tore it off hoping eagerly that my uncle would have packed food...and was disappointed. Inside was a knife, my cloak, some flint, a waterskin, rope, and tiny pouch which I recognized as mine. It contained my meager stash of silver.

No food though, and while I understood why my uncle had selected the items he had, I cursed them now. I would have traded them all for a salt herring or a hunk of cheese.

I didn’t light a fire that night, once again being worried that I might attract attention. So I wrapped my cloak tightly around myself and slept up against the boulder. It was cool that night, I remember shivering until I fell asleep. Even after all these years, I remember the dreams I had that night. I dreamed of the night only two days before, when I had killed Eric Ericson. I felt the jerk as I drove the sword down through his body, felt the hot blood spray against me as though I were back there. I dreamed this dream over and over that night.

Then I awoke and wished I could go back to the dreams.

No one lives their life without knowing hunger, not unless they are a king or a great lord. I had known hunger, who hadn’t? But that morning I was ravenous, feeling as though the great wolf Fenris was in my belly trying to claw its way out. I groaned as I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to fall back asleep but to no avail. After a few minutes of pained silence, I forced my way to my feet and looked around.

I guessed it was just past dawn, though it was hard to tell under the trees. I didn’t waste time wondering however, I knew that my best chance to find food was now. Ignoring my protesting belly I spent a busy hour moving around the area around my boulder using some of the rope my uncle had given me to make snares. When I had finished I returned to my boulder and began work on a fire. I was still worried about the risk, but my hunger outweighed that concern now.

Unfortunately, it didn't take long to make a fire. And when I had finished I had nothing to distract me any longer. I tried to pass the time, I paced, I tried to practice with my axe (though I didn’t touch the sword), I even tried to plan my journey but that was no good in my present state. I ended up combing through the brush hoping to find berries, there were none. But as it approached noon I felt I couldn’t wait any longer. You usually had to wait a whole day to check snares, but I couldn’t stop myself from going to look.

Nothing. My heart sank in despair. 

Returning to my camp I scoured through the brush further and further from my fire. No berries, nothing substantial at all. It was still early spring so this wasn’t surprising, but that knowledge did nothing for the raging beast in my gut. Worse, my throat was so parched it felt like sand but I found I couldn’t drink. Even putting water in my stomach made it hurt now. I tried not to think of food or eating, even considered trying to travel some more in hopes of distracting myself. But nothing worked.

That was another desperate night. 

It was my stomach that woke me the next morning. Whether it was the pain that felt like my insides were being rung out like a cloth or the grumbling that I felt certain could be heard by the gods in Valhalla I didn’t know. I told myself that if I didn’t find anything better, I’d force myself to eat mud. Anything in my stomach had to be better than this feeling. 

My brain was hazy, almost like I was drunk. It took a huge effort to make it focus on anything, I knew I had to check my snares, but I couldn’t quite remember where I’d set them. I must have stumbled aimlessly through the woods for a long time. I don’t even remember seeing any of my traps until, for the first time in what felt like a long time, the gods smiled on me. 

I remember lurching around a tree with the horrible sense that I was somehow moving in a circle. Desperation was now warring with hunger to see which would make me drop the ground and wait to die first. But then my gaze dipped and I found the first snare I had set two days before. Hanging inside was a dead rabbit. I had to blink several times to be sure I was actually seeing it, and then I would only let myself believe when I had touched its cold fur. 

I felt a sudden surge of energy and I dropped to my knees, right there next to the animal, and said a silent prayer to Skadi, goddess of the hunt. I had heard of strange people in distant lands who believed there was only one god, which is of course nonsense. But even among those of us who worship all the gods of Asgard we often select one or a handful to venerate particularly. Like everyone else, I had ever known I had made my sacrifices to Odin and Thor, but I had often privately felt like Skadi, mistress of the hunt, was my protector. 

This belief had started with I was very young. When I had begun to show my unusual aptitude for moving silently in the woods, I had thanked Skadi. I was an excellent hunter, and who else but Skadi could have granted me that gift. And, as the boys who were my friends all outgrew me, I found solace in my personal connection to the goddess. They might have been bigger and stronger, but I had the heavenly huntress.

And it seemed that Skadi hadn’t deserted me that day. I managed to stumble upon another of my snares that had another rabbit inside. Looking down at it I decided that, despite my hunger, I would set aside the first rabbit for the goddess. A thank-offering for her generosity and protection. For I was certain the rabbits were a sign from the gods that I was not meant to starve to death in this nameless wood. 

I used my knife to clean and prepare the meat from my kills, though this took me much longer than normal. It was still hard to make myself concentrate and my hands were shaking both from hunger and anticipation. I made a mess of the job but I eventually got several pieces of meat onto a skewer and positioned it over my revived fire. In no time the clearing was filled with the delicious scent of roasting meat. 

Mindful of my vow from earlier, I made sure to set aside the first rabbit for Skadi. Though it was one of the hardest things I have ever done to pass up on that meat, I forced myself to. But I was raised to be mindful of the gods. I lacked any image or token of the goddess so I simply scratched the outline of a stag on the ground and dribbled the rabbit’s blood over it. I left the remains of that rabbit on a flat stone I found and placed this next to the symbol. I hoped that my offering would be pleasing to the goddess and that it would convince her to continue to protect me.

Only after all of this did I begin to cook and eat my meal. It was its own kind of torture to have to smell the seared meat from the first rabbit as I worked, and even more so to be able to look over at it on its rock. But I told myself that Skadi would appreciate the offering all the more for this. When I finally did draw the second skewer away from the coals I didn’t even wait for the meat to cool. The hot grease burned my tongue badly as I shoveled the rabbit meat into my mouth, eating as voraciously as any starved dog.

I finished the whole rabbit, even roasting its brain over the fire for a final morsel. I’ve eaten many feasts since then, and I swear on my oath that I’ve never tasted anything as good as that rabbit tasted that day. When I was done I leaned against the boulder and sighed contentedly. I lost track of time as I reveled in the feeling of the salty meat in my stomach. I remember that I closed my eyes hoping to snatch a quick nap before setting off again. Perhaps I did fall asleep, I do not know. 

All I remember is that I suddenly heard it. My eyes flew open and I identified the sound. A flock of birds taking flight somewhere in the trees, squawking indignantly. 

I wasn’t alone.

Something had disturbed those birds and my mind automatically began running down the list of possibilities. It wasn’t an animal, birds didn’t take flight at the presence of other beasts unless the animal was running and I would have heard that. So it was most likely that the sound had been made by another person. And, as it always did in a tense situation, my mind found the direst possibility first. 

Eric’s father and his men had found me. I had a momentary flash of the horrible consequences that would entail, but this worked as a marvelous spur to action. I snatched up my pack and weapons and scrambled away, pausing only to kick some dirt on my small fire. I looked around frantically and found no convenient cover. That was until I looked up. Seeing a thick ash tree I hurried toward it and leapt up at a low branch. Hauling myself upward and I continued to climb, though slowly, despite my meal I was still weak. Eventually, I was nestled at the point where the trunk forked off in a half a dozen directions. Doing my best to hide behind what leaves there were I stayed absolutely still, hardly daring to breathe.

That was the first time I saw Mansoor. And I thought he was a demon.

I had never seen anyone who looked like him. His skin, which at first I thought was just very dirty, was weird brown color. He had long black hair unlike any I had ever seen before, it’s texture was somehow different. I was so transfixed by his bizarre appearance that at first, I didn’t notice what he was wearing. A grey shift that looked more like a sack and, at his wrists and ankles, shackles. Now that I was paying attention I could hear the clanking from my hiding place. Was he a prisoner? A slave?

I watched, fascinated, as the strange man hurried into the clearing and glanced around. I could see the panic on his face even from my perch. His eyes fell on the still-smoldering fire and that seemed to puzzle him. But then his eyes fell on the remains of the rabbits.

“No…” I breathed. I’d left my sacrifice to Skadi out, I hadn’t had a chance to attend to it properly. “No, no, no…” I whispered, willing him away. I knew to a certainty that if he ate my sacrifice that the goddess would be furious.

Despite my pleas, the man dropped to his knees and began to shovel the rabbit meat into his mouth. I grimaced the whole time as I watched him consume my sacrifice. I kept watching as he began to eat the awful and any other part of the animals he could get at. It was clear he was as hungry as I had been. I wondered why when something else happened to distract me. An arrow suddenly flicked through the leaves just below me to thunk into the ground. The man who I had been watching noticed and he began to turn to run before another hit the ground, this one far away from the first.

“Don’t run or the next one is in your back!” a man shouted from somewhere behind my tree. The dark-skinned man froze, and I could see his entire body slump. I guessed he’d just been recaptured. With a palpable air of resignation, he dropped down to his knees.

He didn’t have to wait too long. Two men came crashing through the underbrush and into the clearing, one carrying a hunting bow and the other a sword. Neither was very impressive, the archer was scrawny with the air of an underfed cat. His companion had a huge belly and looked as though the effort of reaching the clearing had nearly killed him.

“Stop!” the fat man called before he had to stop to take several deep breaths.

“Don’t make me shoot you!” the archer added, with a disgusted sideways look at this companion. Something in his voice told me that his earlier misses hadn’t actually been intentional, though he was pretending they were.

“Wait, please, I give up!” the dark-skinned man called. I blinked in surprise when I realized he was speaking my language. His accent was strange, almost unintelligible, but I could just make out what he was saying. 

“Oh, having yourself a little picnic is it?” the fat man gasped as he waved his sword around at the remains of my camp. The dark-skinned man looked confused and then looked where his captor had pointed.

“You idiot, how would he have had time to do this! And without his hands? Someone else is about!” the archer hissed. I felt a shudder run down my spine as I saw him knock another arrow. 

“Ah…” the fat man declared triumphantly “...Were you meeting someone here? Someone who wanted to rob us!”

“No, I just-” the dark-skinned man started to say but he was cut off.

“Silence! Slave!” the fat man barked. He was leaning against my tree now, still trying to catch his breath.

“You’re in trouble, when we get you back to the pens we’ll whip the skin off your bones!” the archer snarled.

So they were slave traders or at least worked for them. There were many such traders in and around Birka, there was no shortage of captives brought back from the raids to the east. But I’d been raised to despise them. My uncle had called them vermin, telling me repeatedly that every man and woman deserved to be their own master. This thought flashed into my mind as I watched the archer stalk forward and slap the shackled man with a hard backhanded blow.

I wasn’t even aware of what I did, my body just moved. One second I was crouching in my hiding spot, hoping that the men would leave without noticing me. Then I was plummeting down toward where the fat man still leaned against the tree. My axe in my hand, poised to strike.

As I landed I used all the force my fall had added to drive the weapon hard into the man’s shoulder. He was a head taller and much heavier than I was and I wouldn’t ordinarily have been able to reach this part of his body. But because of my leap, I felt the axe head drive down into his flesh...though not as far as I had hoped. I didn’t have time to reflect on it because as soon as my feet hit the ground I went rolling sideways.

The fat man howled in pain as he dropped his sword. By the time I’d regained my feet, he was gazing in horror at the axe that was embedded in his shoulder. It was then that I realized he was wearing mail, rusty and ill-fitting mail, but it was there. Noting this I realized that my attack had likely resulted in only a flesh wound as I had unwittingly been trying to force the axe through his cloak, mail, the leather underneath, and then his flesh. Given that I was still weak from hunger, it wasn’t surprising I hadn’t killed him.

I knew what I had to do, however. I’d been trained by my uncle and Toki, and they were fearsome warriors. I couldn’t give the man any time to recover, so snatching the sword off my belt I lunged forward and brought it spearing up toward his belly. Again I felt the tip jar against mail but I shoved with all the strength born from my desperation. Finally, I felt it piece through into his body. He roared again but I kept shoving the sword, screaming as I did, and twisted the blade to make sure it wouldn’t get caught in his flesh as I’d been taught. But then the fat man lurched sideways.

It was almost comical, both my weapons were embedded in the man as he roared in pain and stumbled to one side. Unfortunately, the movement was enough to rip my sword from my hand. Suddenly disarmed, I was looking around for any sort of weapon even if it was just a stick when an arrow hit the tree where my victim had been leaning just a moment before. Whirling, I found myself facing the archer as he knocked another arrow.

“Bitch!” he shouted. I knew I needed to run, I couldn’t count on his terrible shooting to save me much longer, not at this range. I had just decided to head left when, with a loud clank, the dark-skinned man slammed his shackled wrist into the side of the archer’s head. The blow was enough to stun the man and bought me time to turn back to face the fat man.

He was in no mood to fight, he’d dropped to his knees and was trying to jerk my sword out of his gut, apparently having forgotten about my axe. My eyes then fell on his sword, still laying where he’d dropped it. I ran forward and snatched it up, I turned on the fat man and roared my battle cry. He finally seemed to notice me then, but it was too late for him. I brought my borrowed weapon scything horizontally through the air and opened his throat in a spray of blood. I didn’t stop there though, I threw my weight behind the sword and kept it cutting until it jarred against his spine. 

Hearing a struggle behind me I reached forward and yanked my axe from the fat man’s shoulder. Spinning around I found the prisoner and the archer rolling along the ground locked in a struggle. The archer’s bow was laying in the dirt several feet from him and he was leaving a trail of spilled arrows as he rolled. Snarling I ran forward and kicked the dark-skinned man off of the archer. 

For a moment, the man seemed relieved. Then he looked up and saw me bringing my axe down toward his head. He had time to let out the beginning of a yelp before the blade crushed his face sending blood spurting. His body jerked twice but then he was still. I made sure of him with another strike. But then, the world was suddenly quiet. I glared around me, eyes wide, seeking another enemy. But none appeared.

It was only then that I realized that my breath was coming as raggedly as the fat man’s had been only a few moments before. It takes a great deal of strength and energy to kill a man, never mind two in quick succession and I was still a girl. I dropped down to one knee and closed my eyes, just trying to force air into my lungs. I was suddenly so exhausted that it didn’t even register to me that I’d just killed my second and third man. I’ve since lost count, but those early deaths remain fixed in my memory.

I found my vision was clouded and realized that it was blood on my face. Wiping it away with the back of my hand, I glared around me once more. Exhausted or not, I was ready to continue fighting. I’d felt a small version of this when I’d fought Eric, but now it was back and even stronger. I was feeling battle joy. I was ready to fight an entire army if only they would come to my axe.

Instead, I had Mansoor.

“Umm, are you going to kill me?” a voice asked. I rounded on it, and I must have looked like a demon from Niflheim, gore spattered with an axe still in hand. I found myself facing the prisoner who, for his part, looked truly terrified.

“What?!” I demanded. I had heard his words but they didn’t truly register in my mind.

“I...ah....please don’t hurt me,” he said hesitantly. 

I stared at him for several long moments, my brain trying to transition from the rage, fear, and joy of the fight to this new circumstance. He was sitting on the ground, leaning in against the same boulder I had been before he and the other men had interrupted my morning. I kept staring, then looked down at my axe still in my hand. I was still so angry.

He saw this too and left raised his hands. “Now wait, please, I did help you!”

I strode forward and swung my axe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having a lot of fun writing this one, and I thank you for taking the time to read it. I know Sarah isn't the most popular figure out there, but damn it our girl deserves some more acclaim! If you like what you've seen please consider leaving a kudo or a comment! This one will be getting updated so don't forget to bookmark!
> 
> Thanks for Reading!


	3. Chapter 3: Follower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah Logan continues her journey but makes an unexpected ally.

It is interesting how we take to other people or don’t. How it happens where a woman can instantly know whether or not she likes someone. It has been my experience that these feelings are rarely wrong. Rarely. Mansoor proved to be one of those rare exceptions in my life.

At first, I wanted to kill him.

I had just driven the poll of my axe into his face, which had knocked him unconscious. I don’t know why I hadn’t dispatched him, the gods knew I was angry enough too. But something stayed my hand, and in time I would be grateful for this. But at that moment I was seriously annoyed with myself for my forbearance. 

After all, this bastard had just eaten my sacrifice to Skadi. A better omen of doom, I could not imagine. Beyond this, I had no idea what I was supposed to do with him now. I was sixteen, with only the faintest idea of where I was or what I was going to do. Having a fully grown unconscious man to deal with wasn’t ideal.

I was strongly tempted to simply leave him there. After all, I’d rescued him his captors even though he’d desecrated my offering. In truth, I hadn’t killed them for any other reason than that I was raised to hate slavers. That and the fact that back in those days I had almost no impulse control, the urge to attack had appeared and so I attacked. But now I had to deal with the aftermath.

The skalds, the poets, never talk about this part of fighting. They sing songs that tell of the time before battle when glorious warriors shouted their challenges or dueled the other side’s champions. They weave tales of the battles themselves, though they always gloss over the horror of those moments. But they never, at least that I have heard, talk about the aftermath except to say that the broken enemy fled like cowards...even if they didn’t.

On that day I had two bodies and a sort of prisoner to deal with. Was I part of an army or even a raiding band, things would have been simple. The plunder would have been shared out and the prisoner put under guard, released, or simply slaughtered. In my situation, I would get to keep all of the plunder, such as it was, but that wasn’t as much of a blessing as it sounds. Remember I was sixteen, I couldn’t carry much in those days.

Rather than deal with Mansoor, though I didn’t know that was his name yet, right away I left him on the ground. I moved to the corpse of the archer I had killed and looked down at him. His face was a bloody hole where I had caved it in with my axe. This was only the second time I’d studied a corpse up close, I had half expected to be shaken. At least as shaken as I had been when I’d looked down on Eric’s body.

Instead, I felt nothing but contempt. This man had been given an excellent chance to kill me before I could have done anything about it. But he’d missed me with his bow at an exceptionally short range, a range where a child should have hit me. So as far as I was concerned, he’d gotten what was coming to him. And he’d died while holding his bow, so he would go to valhalla...though I doubted that he actually deserved to be there. Perhaps the Valkyries would let his rotten soul sink to Hel when they realized what he had been.

But his ultimate fate wasn’t my concern. I was busy searching his body. I decided I would keep his bow, quiver, and arrows. They would make hunting much easier and if I had to fight again they might save my life. I was a good shot with a bow, which had always been a point of pride for me. Most boys learned to shoot, but when they became men most eschewed the bow. 

After I collected the arrows that had dropped out of the dead man’s quiver, I returned to his body. He was wearing a cloak and leather jerkin though no other armor. I was glad I hadn’t struck his body now because the leather was intact. I pulled it off his thin torso and pulled it on over my filthy shirt. It was too big but not by much, the man had been almost skeletal in his proportions. I also helped myself to his knife and pouch. The latter contained some scraps of dried meat and a few silver pennies.

Next, I moved to the body of the first man I had killed. He was more of a mess than his companion, which wasn’t surprising as it had taken me three separate weapons to kill him. But I kicked and shoved his body until I could pry his battered old mail coat off of him. This hung almost to my knees, was far too wide, and was pierced in two places thanks to my attacks but I wasn’t going to pass up the chance at more protection. It was much harder to move with the leather and mail on, but I told myself I should get used to it.

I guessed this man had been the leader of the two because his pouch contained more silver and even a single gold coin. With the coins I’d picked up from him and his companion, combined with my own meager savings, I was now richer than I had ever been...by far. I was also relieved, though not surprised, to find more food in his pouch alongside the money. Dried meat and hard cheese, but it seemed like a feast to me.

I hesitated over his weapon. It wasn’t a particularly good sword, but it was still a sword. Most warriors carried two such weapons, one great sword and one short one for the shield wall. I already had a saex, the sword I’d used to kill Eric, but this man’s sword was much longer. Too long for me, in truth, but I was an arrogant little bitch at the time so decided to keep it. I reasoned that if it proved too much I could always sell it.

My final bit of plunder was both men’s cloaks. Both would have been far too long for me to walk comfortably in them but I intended to use them as blankets. I started questioning my acquisitions almost immediately, however. Even walking back to where the man I had knocked unconscious was laying took a lot of energy under the new weight. I clearly needed to eat more and get some good rest.

But I didn’t have time for that, I needed to make a decision. I thought again about just leaving him on the ground, this would be the easiest solution. But I felt a sudden stab at my conscience at this thought. My uncle had raised me to assist those in need. I doubted I’d even be able to leave him on the ground for long before I came hurrying back. But how much should I help this man, that I didn’t know? I could probably hack off his chains with my axe, was that enough? Too much? After all, I knew nothing about him. His dark skin and hair made him appear alien, like a demon from Niflheim. If I freed him would he thank me, run from me, or follow me and try to attack me while I slept?

The decision was made more complicated when his eyes suddenly shot open as he inhaled sharply. I rolled my eyes, of course, this would happen now. That was when I learned something else about Mansoor, the man rarely stopped talking.

“What? Where am I?” he asked, sounding both groggy and panicked. I ignored him as I worked to pack up my camp. I couldn’t afford to sit still any longer, not while I was still being hunted by Eric’s father. So I kept at what I was doing. He must have finally noticed me however because his voice became more subdued.

“Are you going to kill me now?” he asked. 

“Be quiet!” I snapped at him. I was still beyond annoyed that he had eaten my sacrifice to Skadi, livid even. I was bustling about the remains of my fire but this was mostly so I didn’t have to sit still. 

“But-”

“QUIET or I’ll gut you!” I snarled. I was pacing because I couldn’t make up my mind on what to do with him. All I knew for certain was that if he didn’t shut up my temper would decide for me. And then I would have wasted a lot of effort, never mind killed two men for no purpose.

I remember that I was grunting and muttering to myself as I paced, though I wasn’t actually saying anything. I ran through my meager options, again and again, vainly hoping another would present itself. Of course, none did. I also knew that every moment I delayed here was a gift to my enemies. I kicked some dirt into the air and snarled once more as I forced myself to make a decision. I rounded on the man and stomped over to him. 

“Hold out your hands!” I barked as I pulled my axe from my belt. His eyes went wide as he began to scramble backward but I just picked up my pace until I was standing over him.

“Wait, now we can-” he began to say but I’d bent down and grabbed the chain that linked his wrists. He flinched away, clearly expecting a death blow, saying something in a language that I didn’t understand as he did so. 

There was a loud thud and clang. He kept his eyes squeezed closed for a moment longer but then, realizing he wasn’t dead, he opened one of them. I just glared at him and gestured with my axe at this ankles. He looked apprehensive but he did eventually edge them forward and I hacked the chain there into two halves.

I thought about saying something, maybe giving him some advice or even just wishing him luck. But somehow this struck me as something a warrior wouldn’t do. So I just turned silently and walked away, hoping he wouldn’t follow. I was disappointed.

“Wait!” he called as he hurried after me. I said nothing, assuming he would eventually grasp that I didn’t want his company. 

I was disappointed once more. 

“Wait, please! I can’t run my legs have- well, you know what they’ve been!” he panted as he scurried up behind me. I spun in place and let my hand drop to my axe once more. This made him stop.

“Go away!” I commanded before turning and stalking off in another direction. I wasn’t really paying attention to where I was going at the moment. I just wanted to walk away from him. Being disappointed three times in less than that many minutes is a galling experience.

“But, I don’t have anywhere to go,” he said, pleadingly.

“I hear that North is good,” I growled before I once again changed course and began to leave. My hand tightened on my axe, while I had told myself I wouldn’t kill him outright I was thinking I could still wound him. Fortunately, I didn’t hear him follow me this time. I quickened my pace, heading for a thick copse of low trees. I would be able to lose him there. “DON’T FOLLOW ME!” I called back over my shoulder.

I got no response and that made me smile.

I forgot about the man as I went. I had always been able to move quickly through the woods, though it was harder when I was so encumbered. Overencumbered, I came to realize as I walked. I was carrying a full pack, pouch, bow, quiver, two swords, and my axe. It was an absurd amount to carry over any great distance for anyone, never mind a teenage girl. 

But by the gods, I was stubborn in those days, even more stubborn than I am now. And that is no small boast. I trudged on and on, the weight seemingly increased with each step throughout the day. I was moving roughly southeast, still with the notion of eventually approaching Birka from the southwest. I still didn’t know anything about the lands I was approaching but I felt that it was best that I keep moving.

It was late in the afternoon when I felt my stomach give a twinge. I’d been diligent about rationing the food I’d stolen from the men I’d killed but I had still eaten steadily to restore my strength. I could feel the lingering effects of not eating for nearly two days previously. I was thinking of settling down for the evening when I heard a familiar sound from nearby.

The quacking of ducks. It was a bit early for the birds to be back in our lands but I wasn’t going to complain. Looking in the direction the sound had come from I saw nothing but the trees were thick so I wasn’t deterred. I started hurrying in that direction, already reaching for my pack straps, I would knock an arrow and be eating duck in less than an hour. I was so fixated on the idea of this meal that I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings. And so the man nearly killed me. It was only through sheer dumb luck that I happened to stumble at that moment so the spear flew over my head and not into it. 

I scrambled away as quickly as I could, putting a tree between me and the direction the spear had come from. I risked a glance around the trunk but could see no one. Without another moment's delay I took off running. I had been taught early that indecision had killed more people than all other enemies in battle. So I ran.

Unfortunately, I had neglected the second half of that particular saying of Toki. Which was that even making the decision NOT to act was better than no decision at all. I had chosen to run, so I did, but it proved disastrous. I hadn’t gone much further when my foot caught on a root and I went tumbling. And rolling. To my horror, I realized I was on a steep hill and I was rolling ever faster downward. I clawed at the ground as I went, but it did little to slow my momentum. 

I only managed to catch myself when my legs and stomach suddenly felt nothing by empty air under them. I made a panicked squeak as I realized I was hanging over the edge of a cliff. I was strong for my age, maybe even very strong. But I was the idiot who had decided to take all the extra weight into my pack and onto my belt. Now I could feel my arms already beginning to shake. 

“Idiot girl,” A man’s voice mocked suddenly. Looking up I saw someone approaching me cautiously from up the hill. “I knew you’d run like a frightened deer if I drove you this way and now you’ve done my work for me.” He came to a stop above me and knelt, even a few feet above me I could smell his fetid ale stinking breath. 

I tried to be defiant, to think of something challenging to snarl at him. But I was rapidly losing my breath from the effort of holding myself on the ledge. I hadn’t dared to look down, I knew that if I did my terror would increase tenfold. And I don’t mind admitting I was scared, I had always been uncomfortable with great heights, my head tended to swim as though I had a night's worth of strong ale. And I couldn’t afford to lose my head now.

“There is a wealthy man who is paying well for your capture, very well. A fistful of gold. But you’re head is still worth a purse of silver and frankly...I don’t want to have to deal with dragging you along. Enjoy-”

Whatever he was about to say he suddenly lurched forward. I got only a fleeting glimpse of his eyes going wide before he was suddenly tumbling headfirst over me. There was a brief shout, a surprisingly brief shout before I heard a loud and sickening crunching noise. Even though he was plainly an enemy I still winced at the sound.

“You can let go.”

My eyes shot open as I looked up into the face of the man who I had released from his shackles earlier that day. His weird brown skin looked even stranger up close and his teeth seemed unnaturally white against his dark flesh. Those teeth were grinning at me as he crouched above me.

“What do you want?!” I managed to gasp.

He looked confused by the question, and then evidently decided to just ignore it. “You can let go,” he said again.

“Are you insane?” I demanded.

He looked confused. “I...don’t think so?

I snarled because it was all I could manage as my feet kicked desperately against the air. I could tell I was slipping. Soon I’d fall and that would be the end of Sarah Logansdatter...it wouldn’t be Valhalla for me after a death like that. It was so unfair that I felt tears stinging my eyes. The man seemed to notice this because spoke more gently.

“Just let go, it will be fine.”

“If you want me to die at least have the courage to kill me yourself! Don’t be a coward!” I gasped as I slid another inch down.

“I don’t want to kill you! Just look down!” the man said urgently. I shook my head and squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for him to stamp on my hands or hit me in the face. Nothing happened. I just heard him grunt and then the sound of something heavy landing the leaves. 

“See?” I heard him say, but suddenly his voice was coming from behind me. I frowned and with my last strength I hauled myself up enough to turn and look behind me. At a drop that wasn’t more than seven feet. 

  
I wanted to scream in irritation as I let go of the ledge and feel. I felt my feet hit the ground and but did my best to roll away the impact. I knew I’d lost most of my arrows as I did but I made sure to shoot to my feet, turning toward where I thought the man would be standing. I found him easily enough, he was holding my bow in one hand, extending it towards me.

I snatched my axe off my belt and growled at him. I was ready to attack him in a moment though my arms were so tired I didn’t know how long I could fight. But if he thought to take advantage of my weakness I would make him pay.

“I...thought you might want this?” he said, sounding uncertain now. His legs were slightly bent, clearly prepared to spring. Or, as I later realized, to take off running in the opposite direction.

“What do you want?” I demanded. 

“To...to...give you your bow?” he asked hesitantly.

“And?” I snapped. This seemed to confuse him as he didn’t answer. I kept my eyes locked on his face. Then I frowned as he set the bow down very slowly and then turned to kneel beside the body of the man who had been trying to kill me. I’d forgotten about him. Looking at him now, and then up at the ‘ledge’, I’d been holding onto I wondered how he had died, before realizing he’d landed on his head. His neck was broken.

  
  


“What are you doing?” I demanded again.

“Looking for food...I’m very hungry…” he grunted as he pawed clumsily at the corpse. He looked it too, seeing him up close I noticed just how emaciated he seemed. I doubted he’d last more than a few days without something to eat and soon. I kept watching silently for a few moments before my arm gave a twinge. I realized I’d been clutching my axe with all might.

“Who are you?” I asked, letting the weapon lower.

“Mansoor Al-Shehail…” he muttered as he finally managed to dig a smoked fish out of the man's pouch. He crammed the entire thing into his mouth and then slumped sideways onto his side as he groaned and held his stomach.

“What kind of name is that?” I demanded.

“What’s your name, then?”

I drew myself up as best I could and tried to deepen my voice to one more fitting to a warrior. “I am Sarah Logansdatter!”

He didn’t seem impressed. He opened an eye and asked: “And what kind of name is that?”

“I...it’s…” I spluttered before glowered at him. “Mind your tongue or I will cut it out and use it feed a pig!”

“Just do it then…” he groaned. 

“What?”

“I’m so hungry...just kill me…” 

I blinked at him, unable to comprehend what he was asking. “You want me to…” I trailed off. He just nodded without opening his eyes. I thought about what he was asking. I still wasn’t sure I could trust him but he was clearly no threat. He was asking me to do it...but could I? Not after he’d saved my life...again.

So, with a heavy sigh. I stepped forward, knelt beside him, and took out a lump of hard cheese from my own pouch. 

“Eat, you fool,” I said, sounding disgusted with myself as I looked away while holding the food out to him. After only a few moments, I felt the cheese snatched out of my hand with surprising speed. I then heard sounds like those of an animal foraging. Sighing again, I dug out some dried meat and offered that as well. This too vanished.

“Why are you helping me now?” he asked me plaintively.

“Perhaps I want to fatten you up so I can cook you!” I growled. 

“I think…” he half laughed and half-choked “...I would make a poor meal in my current state.”

I glared down at him but then I surprised myself. I laughed. And that was how I formally met Mansoor. He was my first follower, a good man, one whom I came to love and trust. Sometimes the gods have strange whims, but it is only for us to live with them.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sarah Logan keeps on fighting! But she needs your help! Keep on commenting, leaving kudos, and bookmarking!

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write something for a while that combined my loves of Bernard Cornwell's writing and the WWE, and let's face it...Sarah Logan is kind of the perfect choice as a lead. I'm going to stick with this one because I love the concept so make sure to bookmark, Sarah has many more adventures ahead of her.
> 
> Don't worry Squad people...Liv and Ruby are on the way.


End file.
